


Porcelain figurine

by Ladyblanc_RU



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Curse Breaking, Curses, Depression, Happy Ending, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Mentioned Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags Contain Spoilers, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:47:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26949214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyblanc_RU/pseuds/Ladyblanc_RU
Summary: Jaskier doesn't remember his childhood. He just has nothing to remember. Ever since the young age he was barricaded in the house protected from an outside world. And, to be honest, he couldn't have blamed his parents, really. When their only son is cursed, well, people tend to be overprotective.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 18
Kudos: 242





	Porcelain figurine

Jaskier has never had a childhood. Of course, he was young, but when you are locked in the house for practically forever, you don't really have much to do. Or someone to talk to. Really, he could count on the fingers of his right hand an amount of people he was allowed to speak to. Which was just two. His parents. And it wasn't like they wanted to have a conversation with him either. They would just show up in the evening, ask about his day, often tell him off for even the tiniest misbehave and just disappear once again. This routine went on and on for years, and at some point Jaskier got truly word starved. His own home felt like a golden cage. A cage built of prohibitions, angry words, deafening silence which even his loud music sessions with faithful lute was unable to break. The air itself was filled with coldness he grew tired of, so often he would run away from home to wander around the city, actually seeing real people and hearing their voices. People spoke to him, payed attention to his first unsure attempts to perform in front of a crowd. They adored him for who he was which felt so good after only being told how he disappointed everyone around him. This whole world outside of a unfriendly house Jaskier lived in was so bright and beautiful, boy didn’t want to return to his lifeless self. His life became better after he started to sneak out, Julian was convinced that nothing would ever be able to destroy his happiness.

He was nine when a disaster happened.

Ironically enough it happened not in a loud town where Julian wasn’t allowed to go. No. It was in his parent’s ‘save environment’ where bard’s life really changed the course of action. One morning Julian was just fooling around one of the maidens whom his father ordered to keep his child inside. It was an old grumpy woman, nothing really special, aside from her cold blue eyes. There were even rumors that she was able to freeze people to death only by glaring at them. And stupid enough child as Julian was, he decided the best idea would be to try drawing some response out of her. Not really because he wanted to talk to someone after being stuck there for a week already, but simply because he was bored. So, he tried and succeeded, actually. However, it was not the way he wanted her to. He expected that woman to stare him down, or take him to his parents. That was what everyone had always done, he didn't even think this particular woman would be an exception. But boy was he wrong. Instead of a civil explanation, she caught his arm lifting him from the ground. When she made sure he was looking right into her eyes, she started yelling in his face. “You, bastard, make everyone here suffer by mere existing, so stop make things worse!”

He would never forget that day. Her eyes were glowing with cold fury, nails pierced into his soft skin threatening to cut it easily, her voice rang in his ears as she continued to yell more at him, telling awful words about not only his behavior, there was something about his parents as well. He wasn’t really listening to her. His whole attention was fixated on a blinding pain and a glowing line which was growing with every letter that escaped her mouth. Almost as if she was making him suffer physically by calling him names. There was no blood. Just a line. It looked like a crack on one of those figurines his mother had. Jaskier started to scream trying to get free, and when his arm was released, he fell on the floor and ran away to his room shutting the door behind with a loud bang. After looking for a second around for a place to hide, his eyes fell on a bed. He shivered. Voices were screaming at each other down the corridor. With a quiet yelp of fear Jaskier hid under the bed not wanting to know what would happen next. Tears fell from his face on those terrible cracks on his pale from fear skin. They weren't glowing anymore, thanks the gods, and there was no sharp pain, everything looked almost as if nothing had happened. Except it had. He tried hard to get rid of them. Rubbed his hand until it started burning. Tried to wash it away with his own tears. But nothing worked. They just stayed staining his body. A dark reminding of those words on his skin.

Later his mum entered the room looking for him as he continued to cry silently in his shelter. Julian tried to close his mouth with his palm to stay hidden, but eventually he had to come out. His mom explained what was wrong with him. Apparently, his dear father was a huge prick not only to his own son, but to the people around him as well. Turned out that young viscount was able to piss some sorceress of, who decided to take her revenge rather creatively. Mother tried to speak to him not lashing with anger, though Jaskier still heard metal notes of threaten when she talked about how he should be more obedient in the future. Like after this he would just forget about this trauma and its consequences clearly visible on his skin and return to his routine of staying inside where he was hurt in the first place. He just didn't like that plan. Julian didn't want to be that way. He wanted to be free, to live a happy life of a musician and not the one freaky viscount who hides from the world around him. Julian liked people, colorful nature, different voices and tempers. Besides, it didn't seem like the outside world was any more dangerous, quite the opposite. And, when he was left alone in the evening without even a single word of comfort, he cried himself to sleep as his first dreams crashed beneath is father’s merciless shouts and punishments.

Looking back, maybe his parents were right to lock him up. Maybe he would've eventually liked that style of living. It sounded not as bad as he previously thought. But young Julian didn't want to put up with his life being destroyed. Shattered just like he was. So, he ran away. And by this day he has never even considered returning back. Even the slightest thought of being locked in that golden cage once again terrifies him, makes him get going. Because there was hope his parents overlooked.

He just needed to find his true love.

That sounded easy enough. After all, his appearance and incredible love for people — how ironically — were able to win his way to every woman or man he had ever encountered. So just when he was old enough to start studying in an Oxenfurt academy, he packed his things and left. It was really hard, terrifying even, in the beginning, but soon enough his natural love for society started to sooth sharp edges of his fear. He travelled far and wide winning all hearts easily. However, he didn't find the one. It was agonizing to make mistakes. He wasn't sure whether it was the aftermath of a curse, or just a cruel twist of fate, but he and his love was never enough. As if he himself with his music and love wasn’t enough to make someone to even like him back. His whole life seemed to fall in some kind of a cycle. Meeting, sex, leaving, meeting, sex, leaving, meeting… It went on and on. With different people, in different places, but in the end, he was the one to be dumped. Jaskier had already lost count of cracks on his skin whenever another of his romances ended leaving him broken, or pieces of skin which literally fell from his back like a shatered paint off a picture. Still there was no blood, just pounds of darkness on his skin. Pain became something he had to learn to tolerate just for long enough to quit to his room and hide from everyone. And at one point, after another heartbreak, he decided to stop trying. After all, it wasn't nearly as painful to kill first blooming feelings than suffering from another heartbreak. At least that was what he thought.

But curse didn't give a shit about what caused him to feel bad. Even when he decided to stop his romance adventures in search of a love, he still was in an almost constant pain. Whether his lover dumped him again, or some morons in a god forgotten village told him to fuck off with his music. His body was still taking offenses personally. No matter how hard he tried not to let world crash him. No matter how hard he tried to look like his cheerful self as if he wasn’t experiencing a sharp, blinding pain. Nothing had ever seemed to work. So, there he was. Spending a lot of time and effort every day to hide his awful lines under a thick layer of paint, getting rid of whatever mirror there was in a tavern and simply trying to blend in. He never wanted to be like this. Never wanted to see this horrifying image of a shattered human body. Because whenever he did, a dozen of new lines appeared on his already scarred frame. Hurting him even more. Making him cry almost every time he looked at himself. Tears have become something he got used to. Sometimes he’d be almost surprised when a salty drop rolled over his cheek. There shouldn't be any left.

Jaskier considered giving up. He really did. A couple of times he even found himself standing on a balcony of beautiful palaces, looking down at that far away ground which whispered to him to just give up. To end his suffering. To feel free for the first time in his life, to feel whole. However, for some unknown reason he constantly continued to push himself away from the edge of whatever place he wanted to jump form. Something kept preventing him from doing it, even if he knew he couldn’t bear this lifestyle anymore. As much as he liked writing music, he also hated both himself and his smile. Could that even be considered a smile anymore? More like a wicked mask he was obligated to wear every single day to at least seem normal, carefree, happy. And whenever someone said he was beautiful, it was like a stub right to his heart. He is anything but beautiful.

Pathetic.

Ugly.

Freak.

Jaskier continued to drag his nightmarish life for far too long feeling himself miserable as if he was a bug about to be killed by another boot. Quiet often there would be mornings when he was unable to push himself out of the bed not seeing any need to do so, or to just continue be. He was a freak anyway, what was the point in going on? So one of those days he decided to try one last time. To allow someone inside, to be a loving young eighteen-year-old boy. Yes, he really was that young. Wasn't that just unfair to die in the beginning of his life? Well, he had always thought just living like that wasn’t fair by any means. No one, even the worst people out there, shouldn't have been tortured like he was. So, he entered a tavern in Posada with no actual plan in mind. If it was going to be his last relationship, he figured, leaving Destiny, or whatever crap is responsible for this, to do all the job for him would be a good enough course of action. He had nothing to lose. Jaskier was already exhausted beyond measure, it was hard to keep smiling, jumping around ungrateful people who threw bread at his face. He didn't even notice their hostility. At that point he couldn't be bothered to be upset about one bad performance out of thousands successful ones. He also met Geralt that day. Witcher was nice to him, even allowed to stay by his side.

Jaskier wasn't having much hope from the start.

He knew Geralt would be the last one.

****

Jaskier sighs heavily. He has just come back from an exhausting performance, and anything that can make his suffering slightly less is a hot steaming bath. Bard looks around checking that Geralt is nowhere to be seen anytime soon, and sinks in the water. Paint he used to cover his scars is flowing away staining crystal-clear water. He looks at his body. Tears roll down his cheeks as bard carefully washes his skin. First sob comes out when his long fingers touch his torso. Just where his heart is, there's a big black stain.

He can't do this anymore.

His body trembles. Jaskier lowers head, his long fingers tangle in brown hair almost pulling it out. He has been traveling with Geralt for decades now. And while this whole adventure thing turned out quite well, though he hasn’t forgotten about that rough start they had, bard couldn’t shake the feeling that this is it. Slowly but surely, they’ve reached a point when he can honestly admit that they’re friends. They grew closer over the time caring for each other, their adventures built mutual trust as well. That is a clear fact, even if Geralt doesn’t admit that. And that’s exactly where all problems start. Because Jaskier has already fallen to this brooding brute. As he did with lot of people in past decades of his life, per say. But if Geralt doesn’t even call him a friend, well. It seems that both their relationship and Jaskier’s life have reached their final point.

No matter how hard he tries to show that it’s okay to have friends, this word is burning bitterly on his tongue even now, and that’s completely normal to trust someone. Nothing is working. At first bard told himself that it was probably due to Geralt's pathological incapability to cope with emotions — his special training, be dammed. However, as time went by, that excuse proved to be a simple lie. A lie he fed himself for years, only to feel somehow better about this whole situation, or to give himself some hope to continue this journey. But no. Life can't give him one excuse to live and love, can it?

Well, turns out that idiot doesn't have any problems with working out what he feels. In fact, the situation is pretty much opposite. Geralt not only has never been unable to show that, — well, maybe only when peasants are around, but that’s not the case here — he sometimes makes it crystal clear what's on his mind. And that’s when Yennefer really steps on the stage and takes all attention. Fucking the person who tried to kill you? That’s completely fine. Telling someone who has been travelling with you for decades that their efforts to make your life better are something worth saying thank you for? No way, that’s just too hard. Fuck that, Jaskier doesn’t need words of flattery, or other bullshit. No. At this point even something along the lines of ‘Jaskier, you’re my friend’ will be enough to boost his hope. Nope, Geralt is just too busy for that. Busy staying with someone that treats him like he’s a dog, that is.

Bard hisses under his breath. His cracks start to glow as he gets lost in his thoughts. Geralt had made it clear that he loves Yennefer. That he values her over Jaskier, even though that witch is constantly making him unhappy. Some time ago Jaskier thought he had unhealthy relationship with Geralt. Being in love with your best friend isn't okay, is it? But, ooooh, now bard really sees that witch got the first fucking place. Even though both of them are clearly not working together well. Even though Yen has never been even the tiniest bit considerate or caring as Jaskier is. Geralt keeps choosing her. And it's unbearable to witness them spending weeks, sometimes even months together.

Jaskier swears loudly throwing his hands, hitting the surface of the water beneath him. Loud scream escapes his dried lips, pain blinds him as he thinks more and more about that sorceress and witcher being together. How they burn each other, make themselves suffer by staying together. How they separate to lick their wounds. To recover from their last fight, only to get back together. His body is glowing again as he tries to get out of the tub. He embarrassingly fails to do this little thing right. Bard's legs give up, and he falls on the floor. He shakes violently, another scar takes its way from his heart all the way up. To his face.

And the worst part of this cycle of pain is that it seems to be endless. Jaskier remembers clearly how he rejoined Geralt a couple of weeks ago, just after witcher, once again, parted ways with Yennefer, feeling miserable. He remembers that evening. They both got dead drunk while Geralt explained everything that have happened once again between him and Yen at Aedd Gynvael. Bard saw that his friend was tired, sad even, and he really sympathized with him. At some point in his life Jaskier was in the same place, though he was definitely luckier than his witcher.

There is nothing worse than loving someone who constantly burns you, and throws away when they got tired. Well, if this is such an awful thing, why not end it? Answer is simple. You don’t see them as such. You have an image of a perfect person you fell in at the very beginning, and you look from that perspective even now, when everything is dark. You just excuse yourself for not leaving. It was my fault they lashed out, or they’re just tired… Bullshit. You’re constantly lying to yourself. It’s strange, isn’t it? You should try to make yourself as happy as possible, but at the end you stay with someone like that. And it doesn’t matter how often Jaskier tells Geralt that this relationship is not right. Bard told witcher this truth so many times, he has long ago lost count. Until his witcher sees this with his own eyes, there’ll be no way to get away. 

And Jaskier is exhausted with all of this. His own pain, pain of Geralt being with someone else, pain of Geralt feeling awful because of sum fucking witch who doesn’t even understand how lucky she truly is to have access to that witcher heart of his…

His fist hits the wooden floor. Blood mixes with tears beneath him. His whole body is burning, agonizing pain blinded his vision. Another punch to the floor, scream filled his lungs crawling all the way up to his lips.

“I just want it to stop!” he cries out desperately to an empty room. No one appears. No one hears his sobs, screams. He punches the floor as if it was responsible for everything that have happened in bard’s life up to this day, like it was the source of this awful feeling of a hole in his chest.

Jaskier forces himself on his shaky legs. Takes an unsure step forward to his pack almost failing in the process. Lute falls with a loud cry on the floor as he searches through the bag. His fingers get tangled in the dark unfriendly outfit bard bought recently. Jaskier quickly, with practiced moves, gets dressed. He doesn't look at his instrument.

Decades of suffering.

He walks slowly towards the window. His pinky finger, as well as thin pieces of skin, falls on the floor with an awful sound. It echoes in his ears. Jaskier doesn't look back.

Months of trying to push himself forward.

Bard almost trips over witcher's bag. Skin pieces fall from a sudden movement, shattering. He stays straight up just by a miracle.

Days of fake smile.

A lump gets stuck in his throat making him choke. Jaskier stops for a second, even his coughs are shaken by merciless feelings which gripped his heart in its claws, tearing it apart. While he was dealing with that, ear fell on the floor shattering in a million sharp pieces. Still, the only blood came from his broken knuckles. His mouth twitches as he climbs on the windowsill. Terrifying grin crosses his face, salt taste of tears haunts his tongue.

Seconds before letting it all go.

Jaskier opens the window almost leaving his wrists hanging on shutter handles. His body slowly shatters more and more with each passing moment. Fingers, toes, skin. All falls somewhere deep down with sound similar to porcelain being crushed again and again. He doesn’t find strength in himself to care. Not now. Bard looks back just for a moment hoping that he will be able to leave without Geralt noticing. Relief tries to warm his trembling body up, to chase darkness away. He was still alone. Jaskier knows he can't jump with that idiot watching. He loves him too strongly to make him see this. Blood roars in his ears, he steps closer to the edge…

Destiny is a bitch.

Oh, minstrel knows it is fucking bitch.

Just in the heartbeat the door is opened. So familiar favorite golden eyes look at him. Jaskier can see that Geralt is not just afraid. His witcher is terrified. Because of him. With a loud ugly sob bard closes his eyes and lets go.

Heart pounds in his ears.

Sound of wood cracking under Geralt feet as he runs to the window.

Warmth. Warmth of strong hands pressing his small frame to broad chest.

Jaskier fails even at dying.

He opens his eyes. Tries to get away from a breaking grasp and finish his last goal. His weak shattered hands push witcher away, one of his wrists falls off, voice screams loudly demanding Geralt to let him go. But witcher never does. And bard doesn't know whether he has to be happy or devastated. He doesn't know what to feel anymore. Towards this brute holding him. Or himself. Jaskier is completely lost. The only thing is for sure, that either a miracle happens today, and his feelings are mutual, or he finally gets shattered. Jaskier can feel that the end is coming. He feels it in a small pieces of his fingers of the remaining hand, flying away with every punch, which only gets weaker and weaker, in chest breathing too quietly for someone in his state, in his body, slowly giving up. His movements got slower, and after a second, he stops. He doesn't have any strength left to scream, fight, or anything. Jaskier closes his eyes, darkness closing around him.

After what felt like years of floating in nothingness, he feels how something falls on his cheek. With a moan he forces himself to return to horrible painful reality. There are words around him. Lots of them. He can't process what witcher is saying to him. Bard doesn't try, to be honest, too stunned by the view in front of him. Geralt is crying. Jaskier can easily see wet traces down witcher's pale face, his hands still pressing fragile porcelain figurine to his chest, lips whispering something.

Geralt is so vulnerable. Jaskier can swear he has never had his mighty witcher at this state. Minstrel saw on multiple occasions how strong and truly fearless his dear friend is. And to see him now so broken and hurt is something he thought will not happen. Geralt can't be crying because of his pathetic attempt to end all of this, can he? Jaskier doesn't know what to think of it. His heart aching to believe that this ugly truth has opened something inside witcher, and that they will be together, though his brain keeps reminding him that's not possible. Geralt can't possibly feel anything towards him. Bard knows just too well which kind of people witcher prefers to choose over him, thank you very fucking much. There's no way he suddenly will like to choose someone as useless as Jaskier is. Still, feeling that this might be his last chance, Jaskier reaches out pressing their lips together. He is going to die today anyway. It doesn't really matter what will send him to the grave. At least, he will be able to make one of his hidden desires to come true.

Surprisingly, Geralt doesn't go back. He doesn't throw Jaskier away, or drop him in the floor, shattering his broken frame. No. Instead, he softly answers back, continuing to press bard's fragile body closer. That can't be possible. Jaskier must be seeing and feeling things. He blinked a couple of times to wake up and return to his sad lonely reality. But nothing happens. They just sit cuddled together on a wooden floor, kissing like it’s their last time.

And then Jaskier starts to glow. They pull back from each other, Geralt’s golden eyes looking at him with an overwhelming relief and something that looks like happiness. He, on the other hand, is too amused by seeing his body shift and rebuilt, missing pieces returning, cracks disappearing without any traces. Almost like nothing has ever stained that beautiful skin. Like there were no years of torture and suffering all along. Jaskier twists his regrown wrist, bends his arm carefully, looks back at Geralt with his blue eyes glowing brightly, tries to straighten his legs slightly. Nothing aches, nor breaks. He is whole again. He laughs happily and throws himself closer to Geralt, hugging him tightly, hiding his nose in those white hair, breathing familiar scent. Alive. He is alive. Happy, captured in an embrace of someone he loves, without that terrible weight on his shoulders. Finally whole! Jaskier cries in relief, softy whispering something in Geralt’s ear, his tears falling on a bit rough black shirt. Words of the curse pop up in his head as he tries to fill decades of suffering in one breath to tell, to finally share his story with someone.

_You’ll have a son of arts and crafts,  
With elven beauty face.  
He’ll live as long as love allows,  
If only meets his fate.  
He’ll shatter after every word  
Which people spat at inn.  
And you’ll hear his dying chord  
As cracks destroy his skin.  
If he does get to kiss true love  
In this life’s cruel game,  
Then they’ll live with skies above  
Until one lose their flame._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks you for reading, let me know in the comments what do you think about this piece.  
> And once again, I'm not a native speaker, so if there's any mistakes please forgive me.


End file.
